Page 8 of The Earl’s Hoyden

“I didn’t…or rather, I wasn’t wearing them,” she stammered. “I ran out of the house so quickly, as the cat was slipping from the tree, there wasn’t a spare moment to put them on. However, I did manage to catch him with my skirt.” She startled suddenly and looked down at her skirt where a small smear of reddish-brown showed. “The poor dear is wounded.”

“You are as well, Miss Bexley.”

She paid him no mind as she pried one little paw to inspect before moving on to the next. With a soft tsk, she leaned over the cat. She was so near to Lucien that the sweet, citrusy scent of her perfume teased at his awareness.

Miss Bexley gazed up at him and batted her wide blue eyes. “May I?” She could have asked him for his entire library at that moment and he might have given it up.

Or perhaps not.

He was quite fond of his collection of philosophical works.

Rather than try to flounder for something witty to remark upon or perhaps ask what it was she wanted, he simply nodded.

No sooner had his head moved than his handkerchief was whisked from his coat pocket and wrapped around the creature’s wounded paw.

“And what of your injury?” he inquired, unable to let her bleeding knee go, especially when the stain on her dress seemed to bloom larger by the second.

“Oh, it’s fine.” She shrugged a shoulder at his concern. “Truly. It isn’t the first injury I’ve sustained, nor will it likely be my last. I’m sure you’ve heard I’m something of a hoyden.”

Her blatant remark surprised him as it was uncommon for a woman to be so forthright. It was quite refreshing.

“Does it bother you?” The abruptness of his question was confirmed by the way her head snapped toward him.

An impending sneeze prickled at the back of his nose. He exhaled slowly to quell the urge.

Her slim brows lifted, the same fiery red as her hair. “Does being a hoyden bother me?”

Before he could stammer out an excuse to cover his awkward inquiry, Miss Bexley answered her question. “It’s who I am.”

She flashed a smile at him and cradled the kitten to her. “Though I do suppose my mother will be rather put out with me for ruining another gown.”

A polite glance at her day dress confirmed it was indeed ruined. It was the only part of the encounter that appeared to leave Miss Bexley distressed. That and the fence, of course.

The desperate urge to sneeze attacked him again, welling in his eyes and tingling at the back of his nose. “You can tell your mother it was my fault,” he suggested.

To his surprise, Miss Bexley laughed, a light, silvery sound that rose unabashed in a world where ladies quietly giggled behind hands and fans. The surprise of it thankfully shocked away his need to sneeze.

“I can imagine saying as much to my mother would put me in far greater trouble. And you too.” She tilted her head, considering him for a moment. “But I truly do appreciate the offer, Lord Brightstone.”

The cat squirmed in her hands. “I’ll have my father’s man see to your fence. Thank you again for not being cross with me over its destruction.”

“You needn’t worry,” he rushed, not wanting her to upset her parents further. “I’ll have the fence repaired before you can even notify your father.”

She chewed on her bottom lip, clearly warring with herself before turning her sunny smile upon him once more. “Thank you. Truly. And for also saving Leaf.”

“Leaf?”

She stroked a hand over the animal’s small furry head. “Since he fell from a tree, the name only seemed fitting.”

It was a whimsical name for a cat, but one that somehow fit with this fascinating woman’s stream of consciousness. “Indeed, it does.”

“It was good to see you again after all this time.” Miss Bexley gave a little curtsey.

Lucien smiled at her. “The pleasure was all mine.” And truly, it was.

“Oh, your coat.” She gracefully swirled it from her shoulders with one hand and extended it to him. “Thank you for your chivalry.”

He accepted the garment. “Of course.”